The Great Mouse Detective: Sharp Minds
by Narwhals Forever
Summary: A vigilante is on the loose in London. Basil of Baker Street is approached with a new task: find the true identity of this sword-wielding "Musketeer X" and put a stop to them. Co-written with GodWriting.
1. Chapter 1

The storm outside was wild. London winds were flying around like crazy. Many residents found it hard to get some sleep that night, even some rodent residents. However, one mouse in particular was still up late that night and was conducting an experiment.

"Basil?" Dr. Dawson yawned, groggily peeking into the parlor. "Are you still up?"

If Basil heard the doctor, he made no indication that he did so. He stared intently at the boiling chemicals in the glass beakers, watching the steam swirl in shade of pink, blue, and lilac. After a moment or two of staring, Basil reached out and impatiently swirled the beaker around on the table. "Come on, now," he muttered to whatever was in the beaker, "separate..."

"Basil?" Dawson said again, his voice a mix of exasperation and general exhaustion. "Aren't you coming to bed?"

"Yes, yes, in a minute, Dawson," Basil snapped irritably. "As soon as the minerals in this confounded speck of clay separate into something I can work with, I'll go right to bed, all right?"

"Now, Basil," Dawson began, looking disapprovingly at the younger detective. Basil rolled his eyes. He could sense another lecture about the importance of sleep coming, which would probably lead to another lecture on proper eating habits which would lead to another lecture on his health in general and he simply did not have _time_ for any of that now. "I know that you're trying to catch Ratigan after what happened all those months ago. But right now, you need to rest." Dawson assured his friend. "There will be times for experimenting later tomorrow."

"But-" Basil began, but was cut off by Dawson's look. When he realized that further refusal would surely end in death by lecture, Basil groaned in annoyance and shuffled over to the table, putting away tools and pouting like a small child. He swirled the beaker one last time for good measure.

"Basil?"

"I'm just putting it away, Doctor," Basil said, sulking. With great reluctance, he set the beaker aside to rest for the night. Dawson grinned at his victory.

Just as Basil was putting the last beaker away, there came a knock at the door. Basil turned sharply on his heel, new light in his eyes. Dawson frowned. "Now who in heaven's name..."

"Late night client, perhaps?" Basil suggested excitedly. He scurried over to the door and threw it open. "Welcome! I a-oh." Basil stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who was really standing on his doorstep.

"Basil. I figured you'd be up at this hour," was Edmund's greeting.

Basil frowned. "A pleasure as always, Edmund. And exactly what brings you here at this hour?" Edmund sighed and took an envelope out from inside his coat pocket. He handed it to his brother.

"I have a job for you." Edmund said as Basil took the envelope and opened it. "Have you heard about the recent...reports about the crime rate dropping?" He asked the detective.

Basil didn't answer, merely turned and went to sit in his chair, his green eyes flicking over the paper. Dr. Dawson sighed. "Would you like to come in, sir?" He asked Edmund politely. Edmund gave the Doctor a curt nod and obliged, stepping in and going to stand in front of Basil. Dawson closed the door behind him.

Edmund was silent as Basil read the paper. After a bit, Basil lifted his gaze up to meet his brother's. There was a long pause, before Edmund lost his patience. "Well?" he blurted. "Are you going to look into it or not?"

Basil looked up at Edmund. "A vigilante? You must be joking."

Edmund shook his in reply. "Unfortunately, I'm not."

Dawson blinked. "Vigilante?"

"The first to appear in a while. Sometimes people feel the police are not doing enough to keep the streets crime-free, and they take matters into their own hands, unaware of the danger it puts them and other citizens in," Edmund explained. He looked to Basil. "So? Do you want the job or not?"

Basil sat back in his seat, pulling out his pipe. He shrugged indifferently. "Sounds like a rather ordinary case. Why come to me? I'm sure that your superior intellect could make quick work of it," he said, his voice positively dripping in sarcasm.

Edmund didn't make comment in reply, but instead rolled up his shirt sleeve to reveal a long scar on his arm. One that only a sword, a rapier to be exact, could make. "This Vigilante doesn't take the police lightly. I chased him into an alley way and-"

Basil raised an eyebrow, regarding the scar with some distaste. Dawson did too, noting the pink healing skin that was already trying to stretch itself over the gash in Edmund's arm. It couldn't be a very old cut, perhaps two days old at most. "That cut was made by a rapier, but not a very experienced swordsman. Note it starts deeper than it ends, meaning it was caused by more of a swipe than an intentional hit," Basil said, demonstrating by tracing the air with an imaginary sword. "A more experienced marksman could have slashed your wrist easily. However, there may have been some intent in the placement, meaning whoever made that cut is most likely a student-"

"I _know_ that," Edmund snapped, annoyed. "I underestimated them at first, whoever they are. But clearly the police method of waiting and trying to catch them when they do show up is clearly not going to work. We're going to have to sniff them out and corner them on the sly. I need someone who can sneak around shady places. You're rather good at that. So-" he interrupted Basil, who looked affronted,"-take the case?"

Basil closed his mouth. He frowned, debating silently with himself. he couldn't shake the interested gleam in his eyes. Finally, he shrugged and sat back in his chair. "Tell me," he said.

* * *

* **Two Days Ago***

* * *

The night was quiet and wet. The streetlamps illuminated the dark cobblestone streets with a dim glow. The silence was split in half by the sounds of three pairs of feet splashing through the street. Three masked mice raced through the night, lugging a bag of stolen secrets each.

Edmund and other officers were chasing after them when the strangest thing happened. The three masked mice turned a corner and when Edmund and his allies followed, they saw the thugs knocked out on the ground, two of them with small cuts on their bodies. The source stood in front of the bodies. A mouse standing there with a rapier.

It wasn't a big mouse, not at all really. Small and thin, probably quite fast. It wore a dark cloak and a black mask that concealed their entire face. A small dark purple hat fit snugly on top of their head, causing the ears to stick out just underneath the brim. The silver rapier (Spanish-made, small, quite expensive, Edmund noted) glittered against dark leather gloves. It looked rather like a dark, cheap mock-up of a French Musketeer costume.

"'Old it now!" One of the other officers yelled. "Stay where you are!"

The mouse grabbed something off the ground and bolted. Edmund and the two officers with him gave chase. Down the block, around the corner and into a darkened alleyway. The "musketeer" leapt easily over the overturned rubbish bins. Edmund bounded after it, smiling inwardly. He knew this alley was a dead end. Sure enough, as they approached the brick wall at the end of the alley, the mystery mouse slowed down, allowing Edmund to reach out and snatch it by the cloak. The mouse let out a yelp as they were pulled back, dropping the rapier on the ground with a clatter. It squirmed and twisted in Edmund's hands, clawing wildly at him before finally the fabric swept out of Edmund's grasp. It scrambled for the sword.

One officer, Rollins by name, lunged for it too. He grabbed it first, but was promptly met with a kick to the face. Sword reclaimed, the mouse tried to exit the alley. Unfortunately for them, that was exactly what Edmund had expected them to do. Grabbing his pistol from his coat, Edmund pointed it at the mouse. "Stop," he commanded. The mouse froze.

The other officer, Murphy, pulled out his pistol as well and pointed it at the masked mouse. Rollins had suffered a badly broken nose and was crumpled in a quite useless heap of agony at the moment. Edmund and Murphy began to slowly circle the mouse, edging their way around them until Murphy was blocking one side of the alley and Edmund was blocking the other.

Calmly, Edmund told the mouse to drop his weapon. "Oi! You heard 'im! Drop it!" Murphy yelled when the mouse did not move. As a warning, Edmund clicked the safety off his pistol. Slowly, the mouse began to lower the sword to their side, before peacefully placing it on the ground.

"Good man," Edmund murmured, lowering his own pistol. A few moments after he said that, the 'good man' attacked him, trying by all accounts to claw their way over Edmund and out of the alley. He heard a pistol shot. "Goddamnit, don't shoot!" Edmund yelled at Murphy. Right now any bullet fired had an equal chance of hitting Edmund and the intended target. Although he had been initially surprised, it did not take a lot of effort for Edmund to push his much smaller attacker off of him. The mouse changed tactics and tried to lunge past Edmund instead, but their cape proved yet again to be a disadvantage when Edmund grabbed it and swung them around before letting go. The mouse knocked right into Murphy before skidding right into the brick wall. This stunned them long enough for Edmund to prevent further escape by placing his boot firmly on the attacker's chest. Edmund pointed his pistol directly at them and chuckled. "You might want to reconsider the cape in your costume," he remarked. "It doesn't help you much at all."

The eyes behind the mask were wide and terrified. Edmund hesitated.

Suddenly, there was a flash of silver and a shooting pain in Edmund's arm. He was thrown backwards and heard his gun fire off. _The rapier,_ Edmund thought as he watched his own blood spill from a slice in his arm, _they must have gotten a hold of it somehow._ He heard Rollins shout thickly to stop, and a few gunshots ring out in the air.

"Sowwy, sir, they goddaway," Rollins apologized, his nose still bleeding profusely.

"Can anybody tell me what in the blazes jus' happened here?" Murphy panted.

Edmund shook his head, narrowing his eyes. _I don't really know what happened, either, he thought to himself, but whatever it is, it certainly won't be boring._

Basil listened intently as his brother finished his story. This whole thing, from the police chase down to the part where the vigilante escaped with ease. All of it seemed ridiculous, and yet...this intrigued Basil."I need you to go undercover and gather all the information you can," Edmund said. "Find their identity, where they live, that sort of thing."

Basil feigned deep thought. "Hmm..." he shrugged. "Why not."

Edmund nodded at his brother. "Thank you Basil. Here." Edmund handed Basil another file. Inside was an ID birth certificate and other papers of information.

"You will be going the Famous Mali Fencing School here in London. You're name is Victor Ptacek, you have just arrived from Ireland after your father's passing and coming to live with your mother. You are a well known violinist, and you like to bake." The older brother explained. "Any questions?"

Basil bristled at his brother's tone but managed a tight smile. "I think I'll manage, Edmund."

Edmund sniffed. "Very well. Give me a ring if you find out anything, I have other business to attend to." He walked briskly to the door. Before heading out, however, he paused. "Thank you, Basil."

Basil did not say anything, but gave a nod. And with that, Edmund swept out into the night.

* * *

Author's Note: Hello! Me again!

I am so excited to be back writing GMD fanfic! I co-wrote this story with my friend GodWriting, who dreamed up the idea for and original characters featured in this story. Be sure to check out her account here: u/6273638/GodWriting

I hope you guys like it so far! Please review, we'd both love to hear what you think! Til we meet again,

Narwhals Forever

P.S. Neither of us own Great Mouse Detective. Wish we did though.


	2. Chapter 2

Dawson fiddled with the buttons on his coat, which was once again too small for him (his wardrobe woes were honestly becoming a bit much to bear; he was long overdue for a trip to the tailor's). "So you and Edmund have finally put aside your differences, Basil?" He inquired casually.

Basil looked sharply at him. "What in Heaven's name gave you that idea?"

"Well, you did put down what you were doing rather quickly for this case, and you agreed to his terms without much insult-throwing-Goodness, Basil, I was just asking!"

Basil seemed slightly mollified, as his glare softened a degree and he went back to fixing his curly red wig. "Contrary to what it may seem, Dawson, I have not 'agreed to his terms' on anything. I am quite through with being ordered around by him." He finished fixing the wig and brushed some imaginary soot off his sky-blue jacket. "Anything he asks of us to do are suggestions, nothing more. By handing us the case, he made it ours."

Dawson blinked. "But Basil, you were working so hard on catching Ratigan. Why drop it-"

"I picked up the case simply because it interested me. Nothing more." Basil said shortly.

 _Or perhaps you wanted a distraction,_ Dawson thought. Basil's frustration over losing Ratigan (and for that matter, a certain opera singer) yet again had clearly been bothering him for the past few weeks. Perhaps a new case to focus on was what he needed...not that he'd ever admit it, of course. Dawson looked up at the sign for Mali School of Fencing.

Despite being in an upscale area of London, it still had an aura of fading glory. The intricate moulding on the face of the townhouse-turned-fencing school was just eroded enough, the painted gold letters were just flaked enough to suggest that, though still beautiful, it was not quite as grand as it used to be.

"Basil? How exactly did Edmund come to the conclusion that this is the school where the fencer will be?"

"The mouse we're looking for was wielding a small, Spanish-made, silver rapier. We are also looking for a student, well-taught but still learning. Mali School of Fencing is one of two schools in London that still uses such swords, and the more expensive of the two. It's the best place to start looking, anyway."

Basil and Dawson knocked on the door and entered the school. The lobby of the school looked quite bare, nothing special. Soon, the duo heard the sound of swords clashing from the room ahead. Coming upon the door, Basil grabbed the doorknob to see a small fencing class already in motion. A small crowd of students gathered around to watch the last match of the day finish up. Basil walked in and got through to see the match going on between an older man and a...young girl?!

This young girl blocked every attack the older man threw at her, then finally, she aimed and finished the man off by touching his chest with the tip of her sword.

"Terminer!" She proudly cheered. The male opponent fell to his knees in defeat, as the other students applauded at the match they had witnessed.

Well done, Erica!" The middle-aged man panted proudly, gently removing the tip of her rapier from his chest and rising to his feet. He addressed the other students. "Notice that I am her senior in height, weight, strength, and experience. How did Erica beat me?"

One of the students raised his hand. "She used a false attack to distract you into exposing your weaker side."

The teacher hesitated. "Ye-es, that she did, but that's a mere part of the answer I'm looking for."

"She avoided your attempt to trap her blade?" Volunteered another, but the teacher shook his head.

A surly-looking mouse spoke up. "She's your niece." He grunted.

The young girl, Erica it seemed, glared at him. The teacher frowned. "That she may be, Mr. Mousekins, but I can assure you that Erica won this spar on her skill alone and not some petty form of familial favoritism."

Basil stepped forward. "May I offer an answer?" He asked politely. The teacher blinked.

"Why, of course, sir," he said, pleasantly surprised.

Basil shrugged. "She focused her strengths, that is, her speed and agility, in your weaker spots to keep you busy before going in for the final strike."

The teacher nodded, pleased. "Yes, exactly sir!" He turned to the rest of the class. "We shall part from class today with these words in mind-whatever conflict you come into, the way to victory is by using your strengths to overcome the other's weaknesses." With that, he dismissed the class, who began to trickle out of the room, talking amongst themselves. The teacher approached Basil and Dawson, smiling broadly. Basil noted a slight limp in his left leg. "Your wisdom intrigues me, sir," he said, taking Basil's hand and shaking it. "Who might I have the pleasure of addressing?"

Basil spoke, "My name is Victor, sir. And you must be?"

"My name's Christopher Mali, and this is my niece, Erica Mali."

Erica stepped forward and smiled at "Victor" and blushed a bit as she shook his hand. "Pleasure to meet our acquaintance," she said politely. Her voice lacked her uncle's Welsh accent, Basil noted.

"Oh, how rude of me. This is my brother, Michael." He gestured to Dawson, who in turn merrily shook Christopher and Erica's hands.

Christopher offered a warm smile. "What brings you here, gentlemen?"

Basil cleared his throat. "Well, me and Mike have decided to take some fencing lessons," he explained in a jovial lie. "We're both a bit past our prime but, ey, life is short you know? Especially since..." Basil sighed dramatically. "Our dear old father died, and I just moved back to London to be with the family. His death taught us a lesson 'bout the swiftness of life, to be sure." He bowed his head in sorrow, Dawson soon following suit. Christopher and Erica clucked sympathetically.

"So very sorry," Erica whispered.

"Yes, we all know something about life and loss, don't we? Here, would you like to stay for tea? It's near six o' clock," Christopher said, pulling a silvery pocketwatch and glancing at it.

Basil and Dawson smiled. "We'd be delighted," they said in unison.

"Great!" Christopher then turned towards his niece and told her start putting some of the fencing equipment away and meet them in the living room when she was done. As Erica began putting the swords, Basil, Dawson, and Christopher left the fencing classroom and walked towards the living room of the house that was connected to the fencing school building.

"So you live here, then?" Dawson asked lightly.

"Ah, yes," Christopher replied. "When I opened this school some fifteen years ago, I figured it would be easier for me to run the school if I lived there, too. Of course, that was before Erica came to stay, but we manage just fine. Have a seat, would you, gentlemen?"

Dawson sat on one of the red velvet chairs that stood clustered in the smallish living room. Besides the heavy red drapes and two gas lamps on the wall, the only other things in the room were a small oak table that sat in the middle of the cluster of chairs. Basil took the surroundings in slowly.

"Do Erica's parents live here too?" Dawson inquired, trying to make some conversation as his partner thought.

Christopher stopped and sighed. "I'm afraid...My brother and sister-in-law have long passed about ten years ago when Erica was only four." He answered.

It was Basil and Dawson's turn to cluck in sympathy. "Life goes by too fast," Dawson said sincerely.

At that point, Erica entered the room. "Tea's on," she reported. Dawson proceeded to ask the young lady about her schooling, which she answered, but Basil was really only half-listening. He was looking around, the wheels in his brain whirring madly. Because their vigilante had demonstrated that, while talented, was still a beginner, a fencing school would be the best place to start looking. Basil decided that he would have to find as much information about the students that attended classes here. Perhaps a list of them...?

"Oh, yes, the school at St. Mary's is very prestigious," Erica was saying. "I've a little bit of trouble with math, but Uncle Christopher is always there to help me with things like that. When he's not teaching fencing, of course." Dawson chuckled.

"That's good to know." The good doctor replied. Erica then noticed "Victor" wasn't paying much attention to her stories. She pouted a bit, but shook it off. She grabbed a cup of tea and handed it to "Victor".

"Mr. Victor? Here's some tea." She offered.

"Hm? Oh, thank you dear." 'Victor' accepted the cup and turned to Christopher. "How long have you been fencing?"

"Since I was six, so almost eight years now." Erica smiled proudly.

Basil seemed to consider this for a moment in a thoughtful silence. Dawson, apparently sensing the awkwardness of the situation, began a question but was interrupted by the sound of a tea kettle squealing from another room. Christopher began to get up, but grimaced in pain when he put his weight on his left foot and promptly sat back down. "Erica, dear, could you get that for me?" He asked. Erica, who still seemed a bit put out by Basils disinterest in her, nodded curtly and left the room.

Dawson drowned in doctorly concern at Christopher. "What seems to be the trouble in your leg?" He asked.

"It's a long and personal story...I wish not to talk about it..." Christopher answered. "But can I ask you two gentlemen a question? I'm having a party for the 20th year of my fencing school and I'm inviting everyone who attends. They all get along-well most of them anyway, but...I received a threat of sorts." Christopher took out a letter from his pocket and read it out loud.

" _Hand over your family's treasure on the night of your party, or you and your niece will die._ " Christopher handed the note to Basil for him to read. "Can I trust you two to deliver this letter to Basil of Baker Street? Along with this invitation to the party. I believe he might be able to help me."

Basil took it immediately, almost snatching it out of Christopher's hands. His mind began to analyze every detail...the writing slanted to the left, meaning whoever wrote it was left handed, but no mark from a wedding ring, slightly smudged in the...oh. Wait. He looked to Dawson, who was awkwardly clearing his throat.

"Of course, we'll do that for you." Dawson said.

Thank you," Christopher said as he nodded his head, "I would do it myself, but I can't. Two reasons, actually. I have my fencing school to attend to most days and I'm afraid if I left so suddenly to deliver the letter to Mr. Basil, Erica would suspicious and curious about what's going on. Also, I believe I'm being watched. For a few days now, actually." He explained.

"Really." Basil said flatly, still looking at the note, his mind running a mile a minute.

Christopher took notice of this and nodded his head. "Yes...indeed..." He then looked at Dawson and asked him, "Will you please do this for me?"

"Of course, sir," Dawson said, looking at Basil with thinly veiled confoundment on what to do next.

Basil looked up at Christopher. He studied the older mouse for a brief moment with his emerald green eyes. Then, he folded the paper and tucked it away neatly in his pocket. "I would be most glad to help you in this matter, sir. However, I worry that the note may not be enough for the detective. Perhaps you have another piece of evidence to help the detective get to the bottom of this, seeing as you are unable to see him yourself. A list of your students' names, perhaps?" Dawson looked at Basil, feeling that he was seeing where Basil was going with this.

"Oh, of course. There is a list of students' names and addresses in the drawer of my desk."

As Christopher said this, Erica came back, struggling slightly under the weight of a large silver teatray laden with a large silver teapot, four porcelain cups and saucers, a sugar bowl, and a few biscuits. She set it down on the table, relieved to have made it without spilling a thing. "Erica," Christopher said just as she began to sit, "Could you be a dear and get the student list? It's in the top drawer, in the office." Erica blinked, stifled a frustrated groan, and trudged back out into the hall again. Basil took a good look at Erica before she left the room again. There something about her that bothered Basil, but he didn't know what it was.

A moment later she was back, and gave the paper to Christopher, who in turn handed it to Basil. "Give this to him, if you would be so kind."

"Give it to who?" Erica asked.

"To whom," Her uncle corrected her without another thought, delicately taking a sip. She clearly resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"To whom, then." She said.

"It is nothing to concern yourself with, Erica," came the answer. She opened her mouth to say something else, but was cut short by a withering glare from Christopher. She scowled and reached for a biscuit to nibble on. From his spot across the table, Dawson felt a twinge of sympathy. "So," Christopher said, changing the subject, "what sort of business are you gentlemen involved in, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Business? Oh, ah..." Dawson looked over at Basil, who was looking at the student list. "Well..."

Before Dawson could answer, Basil stood up from his seat, stuffing the student list in his pocket. "Thank you very much, Mr. Mali. We will deliver this letter and list at post haste!"

Christopher blinked. "Oh. I-all right, then."

Basil neatly plucked Dawson off the chair and brought him to his feet before pulling him towards the parlor door. "We will see you for a fencing lesson quite soon, Mr. Mali!" He chirped cheerfully.

As they scurried out the door, Basil almost trampled over Erica, who gave a surprised yelp. Basil mumbled an apology but did not stop, pulling Dawson out the door. Erica watched them leave, her eyes narrowing.

Erica turned her attention back to her uncle.

"Uncle, are you sure we-"

Christopher held up a hand. "It's all right, Erica." He looked at the clock. "Now, it's time for you to get ready for your piano lessons and then after that, get ready for the night."

"...Yes, Uncle." Erica nodded her head and headed off.


	3. Chapter 3

It was the night of the Mali's party and Basil was getting as quickly as possible so he and Dawson could before the party was full of guests and students from Christopher's Fencing school. However, Mrs. Judson wasn't letting him leave until she looked over his attire."Looking nice is not the purpose of my going to this party, Mrs. Judson," Basil said irritably, fending off her fusses over his coat for the upteenth time. "There's a criminal out there to catch."

"There are always criminals out there to catch, Mr. Basil. That doesn't mean you can just waltz into a party looking like that." Mrs. Judson retorted. "If you're not going to smooth out your jacket, at least let me fix that missing button." Basil groaned in annoyance, but let the landlady fix his jacket. Dawson stifled a chuckle and looked back at the list of students that Basil had swiped. Everyone on the list seemed to be mostly males, with a few female students that didn't really come very often. As Dawson looked over the list a few more times, Basil sighed with relief when Mrs. Judson finally finished fixing his jacket. "There you go, right as rain," Mrs. Judson said, satisfied with her handiwork.

"Yes, yes. Thank you, Mrs. Judson," came the hurried reply. Basil hurried and took the list from Dawson and stuffed it in his coat pocket as he hurried outside. He sent out a sharp whistle. "Toby!"

The loyal bloodhound bounded out from his waiting place to meet him. Toby had been waiting so, so long for Basil to call him and he was so excited that he was finally going to see him, oh yes! He sent an approving grunt at Dr. Dawson (having warmed up to him somewhat) before moving towards Basil. "Stop, stop, stop!" Basil began, but it was too late. A long wet tongue slurped at Basil in greeting, covering him in saliva. Basil flicked his arms in disgust, sending droplets flinging towards the ground. "Bad dog, Toby," he scolded. Toby whimpered. He had only

"So much for smoothing your jacket," Dawson teased playfully.

Basil snorted, smoothing out his mussed fur irritably. "Come along, Toby," he ordered. "Take us to Mali Manor."

Luckily for Basil, the wind whistling past them as they rode atop Toby's head blew his suit mostly dry, leaving it only slightly damp and wrinkled. "Wait here, Toby," Basil instructed. Toby obediently sat.

Lights and laughter wafted through the windows, making the Mali home a glowing beacon in the night. The manor was filled with guests, some family, some of Mr. Mali's students, and some other aristocrats from the top of London's food chain. Dawson knocked at the door, which opened promptly. They were greeted one of the few servants Christopher had employed. This mouse was a very small one, the only big thing about him being his mustache. "Welcome," he said cheerfully. "One of Mr. Mali's guests?" Suddenly, he paused and gave Basil and Dawson both a curious once-over, his eyes lingering briefly on Basil's still damp suit before settling on their faces, glancing between them. "Have I...met you, sir?" he asked to neither one in particular. Basil didn't pay much attention to the servant. Instead, he simply walked right past him. Dawson looked at him and introduced himself and Basil, who already was looking around for clues.

Basil studied some of the students. Some of them looked familiar. He watched them for any suspicious behavior. One young one in particular caught his attention, the surly mouse from the class he had walked in on, who was skulking in a corner. Basil's eyes narrowed.

"That was a bit rude, Basil," Dawson muttered to Basil, handing him a small glass of champagne that he had picked up off a passing servant's tray. Basil shrugged and took a sip of champagne.

"Whatever." Basil continued to eye the guests.

"So, you're Mr. Basil?" The detective and his partner looked and saw Erica walking up to them. She wore a lovely navy blue gown.

Basil flashed a radiant smile. "Of Baker Street, in the flesh. This is my associate, Mr. Dawson." He gestured at Dawson, who waved cheerfully. "And who might I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"Oh, excuse me. I'm Erica Mali, Christopher's niece." She smiled at them. "I'm very glad you came to help my uncle and I. To be frank, I was a bit concerned about the gentlemen who said they would send you to us. They seemed, well, a bit dodgy, if you ask me."

Dawson frowned. Dodgy? He had been nothing but a gentleman when they had first visited; she must have been talking about Basil's character. "Then again," she continued, " I was hoping would help us with our little problem. Someone that's much...faster with the job." Both Basil and Dawson looked at the girl, confused. However, Basil was also a bit offended.

"What do you mean?" Basil asked. Erica then realized she had said that out loud and giggled nervously in response.

"Oh, I'm sorry...I didn't mean to say that out loud. Forgive me." Erica gave a small curtsy to the two older men. Basil sniffed. "Anyways, I have something to do. A great honor meeting you, Mr. Basil of Baker Street. Until we see each other again." Erica gave them a smile before taking her leave.

"That was...peculiar." Dawson remarked. He looked over at Basil and saw the familiar gear-turning expression in his eyes. Basil opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again, like he didn't know how to put it into words.

Dawson took a sip of wine, waiting for the detective to say what he was thinking. After a moment or two of silence between them, Dawson inquired awkwardly, "erm...penny for your thoughts?"

"I think...that perhaps we're looking in the wrong place." Basil set his champagne glass gracefully on the tray of a passing butler and started weaving his way through the crowd. "Come along, Dawson."

Dawson fumbled with his champagne glass, unsure of what to do with it. He tried to place it on a passing tray, like Basil, but the tray wandered too far out of his reach and Dawson decided hell with it and brought it along, puffing behind his partner. Suddenly, a voice called out to them. "Mr. Basil!" Basil and Dawson looked saw it was Christopher Mali who called out to the detective. He walked over and greeted with them. Shaking their hands. "I'm so glad you could come. I'm really in desperate need of-"

"My-My good sir...What ar-are you doing here...?" Sudden gasps and some silent screams caught the trio's attention. Basil looked and saw a certain rodent walking in nonchalantly with some..."workers" of his. At the same time, Basil's blood both froze in shock and boiled in anger.

"What in heaven-" Dawson began.

Basil growled under his breath. Just as he was about to step forward to confront the "large mouse", Christopher beat him to it. The older man walked at a slow, yet quick pace, towards the uninvited guest entering his home.

"Excuse me, but I'm going to have to ask you, politely, to leave." He said, his voice almost having no emotion.

Ratigan's yellow eyes darted around. "Really, I'd love to, Christopher. You have let the old place go a bit, haven't you?" An eerie toothy grin spread across his face. "But you know I can't until I get what I need."

Christopher sucked in a breath. "I will not give in to your demands."

A laugh. "Oh, _really._ Do be sensible. You're not really in a position to negotiate, now are you?" Before Christopher could say a word, a jeweled cane swiped at his legs, knocking him over. Christopher screamed in agony, clutching his bad leg. There was a gasp from the crowd. Some tried to rush forward to help, but were quickly blocked off by Ratigan's leering goons. "Stand back!" Ratigan ordered. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be. Or on second thought," he gave a positively malicious giggle, "do."

"You'll never get away with this!" One brave voice in the crowd spoke up. "This is a party for fencers! We've got swords!"

"And we've got guns," Ratigan said, clearly unimpressed. His goons snickered. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, they got me!" Suddenly, three knives came down from above and attack three goons, making them drop their weapons. Everyone looked in the direction of where the knives came from, and there they saw a young musketeer mouse standing on the railing of the upstairs balcony. The costume... it was the same musketeer Edmund had told Basil about. The musketeer eyed the crowd as if searching for someone in particular. Then, the musketeer finally said, "You want the family treasure? Well then..." The musketeer pulled out the family treasure from inside their cape. And emerald-jeweled fencing sword that shined like the solid silver it was. "...Come and get it, ya bloody rat of rubbish!" The musketeer taunted the rodent professor and waited for his reply.

Ratigan pursed his lips, glancing down at Christopher as if he was going to say something, but didn't.

"Come now, Professor, I'm WAITING." The musketeer taunted again. Ratigan sighed and reached into his jacket pocket, took out his pistols, aimed and fired at the musketeer. They dodged gracefully.

The crowd erupted into chaos. Women and men alike screamed and fainted. Mice were running everywhere. Basil was jostled as mice scurried past him, but his eyes did not leave the musketeer, who was showing an impressive ability to not get shot. What sort of physics...never mind. People were in danger, and he had to act now. His eyes glnced around before settling on the door in the back. Basil's emerald eyes widened. "Dawson," he hissed. "I have an idea." Above them, the musketeer started running, as Ratigan ordered his goons to go after the vigilante. Meanwhile, Basil's plan was set in motion. "Quickly, Dawson," he whisper-shouted as they ran to the back room. He kicked open the door and grabbed the swords off the rack in the training room. Dawson followed suit.

The musketeer ran off and hid behind pillars, hiding themselves from the bullets. Soon, they decided it was time for action. The musketeer jumped down from the balcony and attacked the goons using the family treasure they had apparently hidden in their cape. Jewels and small gold coins rained down on them like bullets. The goons screeched and whimpered, trying to cover themselves from the flying treasure. They waved their guns, shooting blindly at the musketeer, who was dodging the bullets as fast as they could. Whoever it was did the best they could to gather up the pieces of the treasure they had thrown, trying to protect it. However, the Musketeer ducked quickly when Ratigan swung his cane over their head. Ratigan dove at the musketeer with a furious shriek. The gold and jewels the musketeer had been holding flew around them in a shower of valuables. Claws flying, Ratigan swiped at the mask on the mysterious mouse's face.

"Now!" A voice behind the shouted. Suddenly Ratigan found himself shoved to the side by a previously unseen enemy, toppling over in surprise. He stumbled to his feet, catching sight of his attacker. It was the little fat mouse Basil kept company with. With a growl, Ratigan began to launch himself at him, before...s _hwoop!_ The perfectly round chandelier above him snapped, falling over his shoulders and stopping around his middle, pinning his arms at his sides.

"Excellent placement, Dawson," Basil, who was perched on the upstairs balcony railing, brandishing the sword he used to cut down the chandelier.

Ratigan's eyes flicked to the side. His goons had been pinned to the wall with a few small knives, stolen from Christopher's stash, no doubt. They stared apologetically at him, silently begging him not to feed them to his cat when this was all over.

The musketeer recovered quickly and checked to make sure the mask was still on their face. It was, good. The musketeer stood up and walked over to Ratigan. "Stay back!" Basil warned. Dawson reached forward to pull the musketeer back, but they flinched, drawing their sword on him. Dawson wisely backed off. Basil studied the Musketeer and the way they acted. It seemed that musketeer had no intention of hurting Dawson, but was giving a fair warning. The musketeer put their sword away again and looked back at Ratigan and Basil.

"...I thank you, Basil. You were very quick in your plan." The musketeer complimented. The voice was rough and gargly. "Now-" The musketeer pointed his (?) sword at Ratigan. "I believe we should rid ourselves of this monster! The Scotland Yard should-"

The musketeer time to finish their sentence when a thug, apparently having freed himself while everyone was distracted, lunged forward and punched them. Christopher Mali, from his place on the ground, yelled out. "No!"

Dawson lunged at the mook, sending him to the ground. "Oh no, you don't!" The normally gentle Dawson bellowed. He had been in the military, after all. The musketeer slowly recovered from the punch. Christopher Mali watched the scene helplessly, finally spotting Ratigan trying to escape while Dawson dealt with the goon. He was about to step forward but felt his leg hurt. He stopped, for he knew if he moved too fast it would result in more injury for himself. Basil noticed Ratigan as he finally made his exit, and the mouse detective chased after him through the back door of the Mali House.

"Ratigan!" Basil shouted the villain's name in rage. Toby's ears perked up. He got up from the ground and bounded over to Basil. "Find Ratigan!" Basil shouted. Toby obediently leapt into action, barking and growling, skidding through the streets. His howls of disappointment rang in Basil's ears. Nothing and no one was there. Ratigan had escaped, again. Basil fought the urge to scream in frustration, settling for hissing vile curses under his breath. Toby returned, ears drooping in sadness. He hadn't wanted to disappoint his master. Basil sighed. "Go home, Toby," he muttered, giving him a feeble pat on the nose. Toby hesitated. "I said, go home," Basil repeated. Toby walked dejectedly back towards Baker Street as Basil returned to the party scene.

Inside, the Scotland Yard had just arrived and taking the goons in for questioning. That's when Basil remembered. The detective looked around but soon realized then mysterious Musketeer vanished out of the party without a trace. Basil turned the other to see Christopher and Erica fussing over each other, making sure they were alright, before finally hugging each other.

"Basil!" Basil's partner rushed over. ""Basil! What happened?!" Dawson started out. "Where's-"

"Escaped again," Basil growled. Dawson opened his mouth to respond when Mr. Mali interrupted.

"Mr. Basil! Are you alright?" He asked.

Basil looked around the room. The other guests seemed to be in shock, pacing, chattering incoherently or trying to wake up their friends who had fainted. Basil frowned. "What happened to the vigilante?"

"Just as you ran out after the professor," Christopher explained, "that...vigilante, as you said, dashed out the front door. Some of my students chased after them, but no such luck in finding the mouse in that costume. Not yet, I'm afraid."

"...I see." Basil replied, his mind already set in deep thought. Erica hurried over to her Uncle.

"Uncle, I believe we should close up for the night. I think all the guests are quite shocked after the events that took place." The niece suggested. Christopher nodded, agreeing with her. The master of the household dismissed his guests at once, also telling them to be safe on their way home. No one argued with that as most of them, who haven't already fled the party, scurried out of the house. As the last few guests left the room, Christopher sighed.

"What's wrong?" Dawson asked, couldn't help but showing concern.

"Maybe I should've given him the family treasure and the sword...No one would've-"

"No Uncle!" Erica shouted, startling the men around by the sudden act. "That rat is nothing more than a thief, con artist, liar, and murderer all rolled up into one! Even if you did give him the sword of our family, and the treasure, he would still...he would still..." Erica was on the verge of tears because of the thought, but strongly held them back. Christopher smiled and hugged his niece, trying to comfort her.

"You're right, Erica. You are right. The Mali family is very proud family. I will not let that go into vain." Erica hugged him back. When they broke from the hug, Christopher approached Basil and bowed.

"I'm deeply sorry for all the trouble, Mr. Basil. Please forgive-"

Dawson recognized that flash in Basil's green eyes. Something had just clicked in his brain. "Don't apologize. I promise I will do everything in my power to stop Ratigan," he vowed. Christopher smiled and thanked the detective and his friend. Basil and Dawson took their leave so after that. However, Basil was still thinking.

Dawson listened to Basil think aloud.

"The Malis seem to have a connection with Ratigan," basil observed. "When he and Christopher spoke, it seemed they have met before."

"Perhaps this isn't the first time Ratigan has attempted to steal their treasure," Dawson suggested.

Basil rolled his eyes. "Well, yes Dawson, but there is something else there. The Malis, while clearly having a long tradition in the art of fencing, do not seem to have more money than any other family of class in London. In fact, when we spoke to dear Mr. Christopher in disguise, I got the distinct impression their financial situation was on the decline. And yet they have a store of treasure that they have not used to keep up the lifestyle they so enjoyed in years past. Enough treasure, seemingly, to attract a sewer rat of lavish tastes. To coax one such as Ratigan to make a personal appearance, at a party full of guests, no less, one would have to have much treasure indeed. Priceless treasure. Something valuable enough that Ratigan would go out of his way to collect it in front of dozens of mice."

Dawson rolled the words through his mind as he listened. "Perhaps something besides the treasure caused him to show up personally," Dawson said slowly. "He did seem particularly intent on Mr. Mali. Perhaps he was more interested in humiliating him."

"Hm." Basil lowered his eyes to his feet as they walked the slightly damp cobblestone streets. "It would have to be quite a history between them to cause Ratigan to come out just to humiliate." He laughed humorlessly. "The only one I thought he hated that much was me."

"One thing bothers me, Basil." Dawson admitted. "The musketeer used family treasure as a weapon. Besides the obvious question ability of that, how did the musketeer know where it was? Considering the Malis situation, isn't it likely they kept it in a safe, or another safe spot?"

Basil's eyes gleamed. "Well done, Dawson," he said (while silently chiding himself for overlooking that fact). "That may be our biggest clue to this mystery mouse's identity. Whoever..." He made a vague gesture in the air with his hands, "that was is most likely someone very familiar with the Malis." He stopped short.

"Basil?"

"Shh, I'm thinking," Basil hissed. Details whirred through his head. Mali. Ratigan. Swords. Treasure. Thoughts organized themselves in his head, opening up mental files and scanning for relevant information. Something clicked. "I need to do some reading!" He announced suddenly.

His sudden outburst startled Dawson, who had spent the past five minutes waiting patiently for Basil to finish considering.


	4. Chapter 4

Basil burst into the parlor. "Where was it, where was it..." he muttered under his breath, searching through his bookcase. "Aha!" He slid a red-bound tome out from the bookshelf and flipped through its dusty pages, scattering the yellowed bits of paper that had been tucked in between them. "I found it, Dawson! I got it!"

Dawson appeared in the doorway, closing the door behind him as he scurried in. "What, exactly?"

"This!" Basil shoved a newspaper clipping at him. Dawson frowned, taking the newspaper gently in his hand and sending a pointed glare at Basil as he got out his reading glasses. Adjusting them on his face, he held the paper out at arm's length. It was a newspaper clipping.

 _ **Mystery Man Catches Robbers**_

 _A masked mouse identifying himself only as "The Musketeer" made a third appearance Saturday night while apprehending two burglars as they robbed a home. The police managed to catch only a glimpse of the mouse as he left the mildly injured and badly shaken thieves to be taken to jail. The mouse is described as wearing a dark-colored musketeer costume and mask, and wielding a sword. While this mouse has been reported twice by witnesses, this is the first time law officials have managed to see the elusive vigilante. Their identity remains a mystery._

"I read that newspaper article when I was a boy. It intrigued me," Basil explained. "It was one of my first mysteries, in a way. It's been so long, I'd almost forgotten completely...the mouse we were dealing with isn't the original, of course, which makes me think that he's some sort of copycat..."

"Wait a minute, Basil. How do you know that he isn't the original?"

Basil sniffed. "The original is dead. In a particularly nasty fight with some low-down criminals. They say he took a bad hit and toppled off a rooftop. They never found the body."

"How dreadful..." Dawson replied. "But how does this relate to the Musketeer we saw tonight? And why they had the family treasure?"

"That part remains a mystery, my dear Dawson. But! I believe the Malis have a hidden connection with this Musketeer." Basil explained. Just then, there was a rapid knock at the door.

"It's me, Basil," a familiar voice called from outside. Basil hurried to the door, grabbing the newspaper clipping from Dawson without ripping it. He opened the door to see his older brother there.

"Edmund." Basil started out. "I just was-"

"Blast it all, Basil," his brother muttered, shoving past him, all gentlemanly manners gone. He was seething. "Both the fugitives we are after show up and slip right out of your grasp. I thought I could trust you of all people to take care of this case. I see now that I was mistaken," he spat.

Basil was outraged. "I'm sorry? I didn't think you-"

"First you let Ratigan escape...Again! And you couldn't catch the musketeer! To be frank and honest, I excepted more from you." Edmund stated.

"First of all, I didn't LET Ratigan escape!" Basil nearly yelled. "I chased after him-"

"And let the Musketeer escape as a result!" Edmund interrupted him again. "And they call you the great mouse detective!"

Basil spluttered in fury. Dawson had had enough. "You gave him the case, Edmund," he interjected. "And now you criticize how he solves it? Besides, at least he helped make sure nobody got seriously injured!"Edmund glared at Dawson but didn't say another word. He didn't admit it out loud, but the good doctor was right. Edmund the let out a long held sigh.

"...Do what you wish, Basil. But I don't want another failed capture. This vigilante is too risky and dangerous." He stated."Oh, wait just a minute," Basil poked his older brother in the chest. "I took this case and I intend to see it through."

Edmund laughed. "Oh, really? Of the two of us here, who is the older, more important government official?"

Basil scoffed. "You can't stop me anyway. I'll solve the case behind your back if I have to."

"Really?"

"Really."

Dawson sighed. "Isn't it better if you both work on the case? You've done it before." "Dawson, please! Stay out of this one!" Basil stated. "Anyways, I think this vigilante is connected to the vigilante from the past. It's possible-" Just as Basil was about to continue, the trio heard a scream come from down the street. Basil ran out the door, followed by Edmund. The brothers came to the sight of a thug holding a young woman close, with a knife close to her neck. And standing across from them was a slightly older gentleman, hesitating on what to do.

" 'And ova your cash, mate! Or your pretty thing not gonna be so pretty no more!" Edmund reached for his pistol, which he had hidden in his coat (being the important government official that he was, he always had some form of protection with him). He was about to pull it out but everything happened in a flash. Suddenly the thug was kicked to the ground, letting the female go. As the thug was about to get up but a quick punch to the face from the Musketeer Vigilante knocked him flat. The female mouse barely had time to scream as Basil pounced, knocking the musketeer to the ground in the scuffle. Quickly he pulled off the mask."No!" The musketeer quickly used one hand to cover their face and tried to run away, but Edmund grabbed the cape and pulled it back, taking the vigilante along with it. The musketeer fell to the ground, and Basil removed the gloved hand away from the musketeer's face. Basil's face expression changed from attacking fury to utter shock when he saw who was behind the mask. "Miss Mali?" Dawson gasped.

"You're the one behind this?!" Basil shouted incredulously.

Seeing no other way, Erica began to explain. "I had to do it, Mr. Basil. For my family!" She was struck silent by the rough hold Edmund seized of her arm.

"Regardless of what you did it for," he said coldly, "you are still a criminal."

"As if someone like YOU could understand." She spat at Edmund. "You would never...understand..." Erica began to get quiet as she looked down at the ground.

"How did you get here?" Basil interrogated.

"Followed him from the party," Erica said. "I saw him get away. Of course," she laughed, "seeing as the police are absolutely _useless_ at their jobs..."

Basil sent Edmund a look. Green met green and they both understood."We had better take this inside," Basil said curtly. He sent a glance at the frightened and confused couple standing nearby. For a moment he had forgotten about them.

Edmund noticed and immediately took action. "Tell no one about this, by order of the queen. If word gets out I will hold you both responsible." He fished a wad of money from his pocket and slipped it into the gentleman's paw. "For your troubles."

The gentleman and lady nodded quickly and hurried off. Erica was silent as they walked into Basil's flat. She did nothing except sit down across from Basil's seat, accept a cup of tea, and not say a word. Edmund, Basil, and Dawson waited for her to look up at them. But that didn't happen for a while, and when she did, she looked at the three men with a humble, yet fierce glare.

"What are you waiting for, Official?" She finally asked, obviously talking to Edmund. "Aren't you going to arrest me? Aren't you going to arrest Musketeer X?" She nearly spat at him in disgust.

"Not until you've answered some questions," Edmund answered simply. "For example. What on Earth are you doing running around so late at night, fighting dangerous criminals on the streets?"

Erica held up her head proudly. ""My family...the blood of royal musketeers runs deep through our veins. The Malis served all nobility over Europe for many years. Until...musketeers swordsmen weren't really needed around anymore. However, the Malis are very stubborn. You may have guessed that already," she gave a small smile. "Even with guard jobs or protection duty, we always practiced are techniques until they became as sharp as the swords we used." Erica was silent for a moment before continuing. "Musketeers are bound to struggle against evil and protect. Even at fourteen, I can see that the city I live in is teeming with evil. And that is why I've decided to become the Musketeer Vigilante that stands before you. The vigilante I call, Musketeer X." She turned a glare on Edmund. "Mice like you are only concerned with money and politics. Everyone knows that the streets of London are full of danger and crime and yet nothing changes. And you!" Her eyes turned to Basil, and then to Dawson. Betrayal was written in her eyes. "I thought you were like us. I admired you. You were willing to go places that the police didn't, solved cases that the officials couldn't, put awful criminals like Ratigan in their place! And yet I find out you are working for mice like him," she nodded at Edmund.

"I am doing my dear brother a favor by offering my services to this case," Basil informed her. "If my assumptions are correct, you already encountered Edmund and a few officers in a scuffle the other night. You took something from the masked men you apprehended."

Erica pursed her lips. "I might have."

"Would you mind telling what exactly you took?" The detective asked

Erica scoffed. "You honestly except me to tell you? Just like that?" She questioned, snapping her fingers.

Edmund's eyes darkened. "Yes."

Erica looked away. Thinking of what to say or how to reply. Then she sighed in defeat and looked back at Basil, trying to ignore Edmund, and answered.

"I took what those thugs original stole from the family the robbed." She answered. "It was the will of their late grandfather."

"And what was on this said will?" Basil asked. Erica shrugged.

"I'll be honest, I only go a small look at the will but a saw a lot of money was left to the family." She answered. Basil's eyes narrowed. "You're lying."

Erica's brows knit together. "I am not!" She cried. "I am being honest!"

Basil let out a short laugh. "Please. You're dealing with the world's greatest detective here." Edmund rolled his eyes. Dawson continued to watch the scene play out, a rather confused expression cemented on his face. "Don't you think I can tell when I'm being lied to? Now come clean," Basil continued. "You probably know that will by heart. Because that will was..."

"Your grandfather's," Edmund finished for him. Dawson's jaw dropped.

"How on Earth could you possibly have deduced that?" He cried.

"Elementary," the brothers replied vaguely and in unison. Realizing they answered together, they turned and glared at each other.

Erica's quick moment of shock turned to outrage. "I have no idea what you're talking about!" She denied vehemently.

Edmund's eyes lit up. His stab in the dark had hit a target. "It _was_ your grandfather's," he repeated. "Your uncle's father." He sent a quick glance to his brother, sending a clear message to turn up the pressure.

"Now tell me truly," Basil said, leaning in close to Erica. She stubbornly glared in the opposite direction. "What were those men doing with your grandfather's will? Why are you out living like a vigilante? And more importantly," he said, lowering his voice, "what do you have to do with the former vigilante, the Musketeer?"

Erica was silent. She didn't want to say another word to these mice. They won't understand. They won't, she thought. Erica crossed her arms and and stayed silent. Gears were turning in her head; Basil could easily tell this. She was thinking of something, but of what Basil could be sure about. That's when she finally spoke.

"Arrest me." She said. Those two words left Dawson shocked, Basil stunned, and Edmund the slightest bit confused. "Just arrest me." Erica repeated.

"What? Why?" Edmund asked.

"Isn't that what you want, Official?! To arrest the vigilante that's been stopping crimes and saving lives in Mousedom?! Doing things that YOU and your allies never contributed to?" Erica snapped at him, viciously. But then she calmed down a bit and looked away. "Besides...I don't want to reveal any more than I already have. Arrest me, then I'm in jail, your ego is smoothed, and we all are happy. It's the fastest solution, isn't it?" She asked him, looking him directly in the eyes. Edmund blinked in surprise and looked first at Dawson, then at Edmund."If you're not going to arrest me this time...Then I'll be going now." Erica stood up from her seat, snatched her mask out Basil's hands, and was about walk away from the gentlemice and out the front door. However, Edmund stopped her by grabbing her arm again and pulling her back.

Erica did wince in some pain, Edmund ignored it."If being arrested is what you want, then being arrested is what you shall get. Let's see if a night in jail makes you talk," Edmund said shortly.

Dawson's eyes widened. "But, but Edmund," he said, "she's only a little girl. And jail is..."

"She asked for it." After a few seconds of hesitation, Erica held out her wrists willingly. Edmund took out a spare pair of handcuffs and was about to put them on the Vigilante's wrists.

"Edmund, wait." Basil suddenly was about say something but was silenced by Edmund small, harsh glare at him.

"She _asked_ me to," Edmund said, almost defensively.

"She's hiding something. Perhaps we should go to her uncle first.""I told everything I wanted too. Besides, asking my Uncle will do you no good, detective." Erica added. The detective and his brother looked at Erica. But Edmund then said:

"We'll see, young lady."

* * *

There was a knock on the door of the Mali's residence. Christopher was resting in the living room. At the sound, he got up off the sofa, grabbing for his cane. "Sir, I can-" one servant began, but Christopher waved him off.

He hobbled to the door and opened it. "Hello, my dear, are you-" Christopher greeted, stopping short when he saw Edmund, Basil, Dawson, and of course, his niece standing at the door. Erica was still in her Musketeer uniform and Christopher saw she didn't have her mask on. He sighed and looked at Erica.

"Tough night Erica?" He asked, causally. Erica nodded her head.

"Yes, Uncle Christopher." "I didn't say anything more than I needed to. Besides, asking my Uncle will do you no good, detective." Erica added. The detective and his brother looked at Erica.

"Mr. Mali," Basil said shortly. You have some explaining to do."

Christopher simply nodded his head and replied, "yes, I suppose I do. Please, let us talk inside." The three gentlemice and niece followed the master of the house inside. Erica sat down, staring at the hands in her lap, as Christopher and the trio stood.

"Believe me, detective. I've tried to stop her many times, but, as you've no doubt noticed, stubbornness runs in the family." Christopher stated. "Erica never means harm to another mouse of any kind. She only though she was doing what was best for Mousedom."

"And you knew she was doing this all along?" Edmund asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes, I did. She tried to hide from me at first," Christopher sent a side glance to Erica, who was still looking down, "but she couldn't for long. I caught her as Musketeer X, one night, when she was sneaking back into her room after one of her late-night patrols."

Erica still said nothing.

"After lectures and punishments of grounding her, she still continues to peruse this goal: to protect Mousedom from thugs and criminals." Christopher explained. "But if you do wish to arrest my niece, then arrest me as well."

"But why? You've done nothing wrong." Dawson said. Christopher shook his head as he chuckled sadly.

"That's where you are wrong, Doctor." He said. "You see, I'm the one who probably inspired her to become Musketeer X, because I...was the original vigilante Musketeer."

"AHA! I knew it!" Basil shouted triumphantly over the noise of his inner theme tune.

"You didn't," Edmund scoffed. "A hunch isn't the same thing." Basil glared at his older brother. He looked away and crossed his arms, muttering something about Edmund.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you, Basil." Edmund said. "Would you mind saying that a bit louder?" Basil was about to reply, but was cut off when Dawson decided to clear his throat rather obnoxiously. Basil and Edmund decided to set aside their little squabble for now. Christopher walked towards the window and stared out it for what seemed like the longest time. When he finally turned around, he asked,

"So, what will you do now, Mr. Edmund? If you're going to arrest us, then let it be. I've told you everything we need to tell you.""I disagree," Basil scoffed. "We still have not gotten an explanation for your father's will," he sent a glare at Erica, who shot one right back, "or about your affiliation with Ratigan!"

Erica's jaw dropped. "Affiliation?!" She shrieked incredulously. "My uncle would never-"

"I'm afraid you misunderstand," Christopher said. "Professor Ratigan and I have a history, yes, but completely antagonistic in nature. It is also a personal matter that I do not wish to speak of. Now, if you are not going to arrest us, then I will bid you all good night. Erica and I have some talking to do." He looked at Erica, who was still upset with Basil. Having the nerve to think that her uncle had some kind of underworld connections with that rat of a professor.

"Mr. Mali, I still want some answers." Basil stated, sternly.

"You be quiet!" All the men looked to see Erica, standing up from her chair, and was fuming with anger. "First of all, you and your brother should NEVER have interfered with my work in the first place! Second, you accused _my_ uncle to be an assistant to the rat! Third-"

"Erica! That's enough!" Christopher nearly shouted, but Erica didn't listen.

"-the truth is, none of you care about what's happening in London nowadays, you're all trying to make names for yourselves! You're no heroes! You three are nothing better than that low-life, Ratigan! All you care about is making your images look better than everyone else's!"

Basil sucked in a breath. His body went rigid with barely contained fury. "How dare you!" was all he could manage to spit out.

Suddenly, Edmund laughed. It was a harsh, humorless sound. "Oh, you are a stupid girl, aren't you? Be _quiet_ , you little brat," he spat, silencing Erica's objections, "and listen to me. The rat that you are dealing with is a menace. You think you are invincible because you know some fancy sword tricks, but when all is said and done, you are still a young girl with little experience and he is the most feared criminal in London _history_. The truth, whether you wish to admit it or not, is that you are far in over your head, and you sir," he said, sending a pointed glance at Christopher, "made an appalling decision by allowing your niece to put herself in such an abominable amount of danger. But here's the thing. If I turned the other cheek and let you loose to do whatever you wish around the city, it is only a matter of time before you slip up and get yourself killed, thereby destroying every part of whatever it is you're working to accomplish. That is why I must know what this is all about. That is why I asked Basil to help me get to the bottom of this. Because we are trying to save your hide, little girl. But you can't understand that, can you, which is why you sit there and fling insults at us. And if you know what is good for you, you won't dare compare my brother to that piece of filth ever again. Do you understand me?"

Erica stared at him, wide-eyed.

"And you, sir," Edmund yelled, whirling on Christopher. "You will tell me and my brother everything or I will take away everything you care about. Your fencing school, your family fortune, the only family you have left."

"You can't-" Erica began.

"Oh, in due time I think you shall see that I can," Edmund cut in coolly. "I have connections. And not much more patience, Mr. Mali. So, if you please..."

Christopher took a deep breath in defeat. He sat down. "I suppose I should start from the beginning.""It was years ago, but I remember it so well. Ratigan and I were acquaintances for sometime before he became known as the Napoleon of crime. This is when we were younger, mind you. We knew each other very well, and soon began to become closer friends. That is...Until I decided to become the Musketeer and stop crimes around the city. Not knowing Ratigan was the one behind all the crime waves and being the ignorant fool I was, I told him what I was doing. Then...the horrible truth came out one night..."

* * *

 _Christopher was running down an alleyway after a thug who worked for Ratigan, but at the time he didn't know it was Ratigan, who was his boss. Christopher, the Musketeer, finally caught the thug and threw him against the wall. He pointed his emerald-jeweled fencing sword at the thug mouse._

 _"Where's your boss?" The Musketeer asked. The thug shivered at the thought of what his boss would do to him if he spilled the beans about where he was. The sword's tip pressed gently against the thug's neck. "I'm WAITING." He nearly growled. The thug gulped and quickly told him about the Rat Trap bar, which was the entrance to the hideout. And in a flash, when the thug opened one eye, the Musketeer was gone, without a trance._

 _The Musketeer slammed the door open to the bar and everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at him in shock and/or in confusion. The Musketeer walked through the bar, ignoring the glances and whispers all around him. He walked behind the bar, despite the barmaid's protest and opened the cellar door on the ground. The bartender tried to stop the Musketeer but only to receive a kick to the stomach. The Musketeer hurried down and navigated through the sewer pipes before he arrived at the hideout._

 _The Musketeer moved throughout the underground lair when he took a quick peek in the barrel and couldn't believe his eyes. He saw Ratigan sitting on the throne chair, drinking champagne like a king. All Christopher could do was stand there in shock, wondering if what he was seeing was real or not. It was only a moment before Ratigan's large yellow eyes flicked to where Christopher was standing. Quick as a cobra, Christopher snapped back to the shadows. He waited a moment before peeking again. For a brief moment he thought he saw Ratigan's eyes narrow, then he went back to sipping his champagne like nothing had happened._

 _Whew. Christopher cautiously moved out again, trying to make it into the room without Ratigan noticing. His light-as-feathers feet nimbly carried him into the throne room, staying just out of sight without a sound. He cautiously made his way to the back of the room, waiting just behind Ratigan. He made a move for his sword..._

 _"I really wouldn't, if I were you," Christopher stopped short. Ratigan turned around in his chair so he was facing Christopher, one hand carrying his flute of champagne and the other holding a pistol pointed at Christopher's chest. "I must say, you are very quick on your feet. If I were any other mouse in London, I wouldn't have noticed you were there. Unluckily for you," he smiled wickedly, "I'm not other mice."_

 _Christopher inwardly raised an eyebrow at this clear rat identifying as a mouse, but decided to get straight to business. "I know of what you did to the Princetons," he said accusingly. "I've questioned your thugs."_

 _Ratigan clucked his tongue. "Such a nice family, really. Mr. Princeton shouldn't have double-crossed me. Oh well. I think my darling little kitten enjoyed her snack."Christopher growled but remained still. He knew that any sudden movements would surely cause Ratigan to pull the trigger on the pistol. Christopher narrowed his eyes through the mask he wore on his face and glared the Napoleon of Crime._

 _"...I trusted you, Padraic." Was all Christopher could say. "I trusted you. Why?" Ratigan simply chuckled at Christopher's question._

 _"Why? I'll tell you why. For power, dear Christopher! For power!" Ratigan exclaimed, spreading his free arm out wide to make a point of some kind. "Every mice Mousedom is foolish and naïve, nothing like myself. They need someone to guide them, someone to rule with true power! The current Queen of Mousedom is too kind and soft-hearted. What this country needs is a KING that's smart, elegant and-"_

 _"She's a better ruler than you'll ever be, Padraic." Christopher interrupted. "You've murdered innocent citizen in cold blood. Most of them who have done nothing wrong. Justice will be brought down upon you, Padraic." Christopher took a deep breath before continuing. "I wish you turn yourself in now. I wish not to harm you, my friend." When Christopher said "my friend", he didn't even know if he should be calling Ratigan a friend anymore.v"Oh, you're one to talk, Christopher. Running around playing judge and jury in that silly little costume. Which, by the way, is about half a century out of date." Ratigan grinned. "Besides, Christopher, I don't wish to harm you either. We are friends, after all. I'll even make a deal with you...if you stay out of my way, I'll let you have a slice of my profits once I come to power. How does that sound?"_

 _Christopher's mouth twisted. He reached for his sword. Ratigan sighed. "I'll take that as a no, then."_

 _Christopher dove for the ground as Ratigan's finger pulled the trigger. BLAM! A bullet pierced the wall. Christopher swiftly clambered to his feet and ran as Ratigan shot again and again. Christopher kept a low run, swerving around the hallway until he got close enough to swipe with his rapier at Ratigan's hand. A clean, thin slice whipped across Ratigan's knuckles, causing him to shriek in pain and drop the gun. It clattered to the floor. Christopher knew Ratigan was far too big for him to take out in hand to hand combat, so he'd have to disable him somehow. He tried to slash at Ratigan's leg but Ratigan blocked it with his claws. Undiscouraged, Christopher tried to stab at his other leg, but this too was deflected by Ratigan's claws. Ratigan shoved at Christopher, causing him to stumble back. Christopher saw the swipe coming and blocked it with his rapier. Just then, Ratigan took his champagne glass and splashed the remnants of his drink into Christopher. The evil rat took advantage of Christopher's momentary blindness to send a powerful kick into Christopher's stomach. Christopher was sent skidding across the floor._

 _Christopher heard voices. He blinked his stinging eyes rapidly and got up. Some of Ratigan's thugs were running to the room. They must have followed him down. He knew that to win this fight, he needed to get out of enemy territory. Christopher ran._

 _"After him!" Ratigan yelled. A thug tried to block his way, but Christopher stabbed him quickly in the shoulder and shoved him out of the way, scrambling over his body to get free. He raced back the way he came, heart pounding in his throat. He got through the bar, passed the drunkards and thieves, and out into the night. Hearing his pursuers close behind him, Christopher looked around for an escape. He needed to get to higher ground. His eyes settled on a pile of trash that was piled high against the side of the bar._

 _Wrinkling his nose, he sheathed his sword and scrambled up the side of the putrid, rotting pile of garbage, scratching at the wall for a grip. Suddenly, he felt a sharp tug at the edge of his cape. He looked down and saw a thug's claws sunk into his cape. He made a sharp kick at his face, sending him tumbling down the pile of trash. Christopher pulled himself up on the rooftop and pulled out his sword, readying himself for a fight. He heard them coming. They were coming fast, and Christopher tried to prepare himself, but this time, he felt like he was way over his head on this case. Shaking the feeling away, Christopher got ready for action when the first thug appeared. Christopher charged but was unaware of the gun the thug mouse held behind his back. He was shot. The musketeer was shot in his leg. Christopher screamed in pain. But he didn't give up, for all he did was kneel done on his old leg, that wasn't shot, and glare up at the thugs coming for him. He raised his sword only to have get kicked out of his hands. The next thing Christopher knew, he was getting the living crap beaten out of him, and soon, was thrown off the rooftops._

 _This was it. He was finished. But at least he was doing something that meant the world to him: Protect and defend his home...At least, that's what he thought...when he felt something catch him while he was falling and loosing consciousness._

"…And that's what happened." Christopher finished explaining. "Before you ask, no. I don't know who, or what caught me. All I remember was waking up in my bedroom with my personal maid, Jennifer, watching over me, worried."

"Did she know you were the musketeer?" Edmund asked.

"That was the night she found out." Christopher said, sadly. "After she told me my leg wouldn't be as good as it use to be ever again, she told me I couldn't risk anything else to this, in her words, not mine, this 'foolish hobby'. I told her it wasn't foolish, nor was it a hobby. But she didn't listen, and forbid me from becoming the Musketeer ever again. And for the first time in my life, I reluctantly listened to someone." Christopher looked at the trio of gentlemice and gave off a small smile.

"Alright, that's my story. Am I leaving anything out?" He asked Basil and Edmund. Basil pursed his lips. "Why did Ratigan come here tonight?"

Christopher coughed. "Erica took something from him. Or his minions, anyway. You see, after I retired from being Musketeer X, I laid low for a while. Very low. Ratigan knew who I was, of course, but he also knew that to protect my own identity I could not expose him for who he was. I don't know why he did not come after me before now. Maybe I wasn't a significant enough threat, or perhaps something of our previous friendship remained, something enough to save my life. Whatever the reason, I was not troubled by Ratigan until Erica decided she wanted to become the Musketeer." As he said this, all eyes turned to Erica. "Erica, dear," Christopher said tiredly, "care to tell them why you became Musketeer?"Erica was silent but then started talking. "I did it to avenge my uncle. When he told me about all this, I knew couldn't just sit around. So...I become the next Musketeer, Musketeer X." Christopher looked back at the trio.

"I'm sorry to have taken such a long time to explain this situation. So, what do you plan to do now?" Christopher asked. "If you are going to arrest my niece..." Christopher walked in front of Erica, as if trying to protect her, "I suggest you instead arrest me in her place."


	5. Chapter 5

Erica gasped. "Uncle, no!" She cried. A terrifying image of her poor uncle in chains flashed before her eyes.

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Tschk." He'd been putting up with this nonsense for far, far too long. "This has gone on long enough," he said coldly. "I'm tired of this silly back-and-forth with you two. It is my job to find the vigilante and I did."

Basil scoffed. "I did, you mean."

Edmund rolled his eyes again, so far back in his head that Dawson's doctorly nature began to worry a bit. "What _ever._ "

 _I guess that runs in the family,_ Dawson thought.

"If you're so sick of it, Mr. Edmund, then make the arrest." Christopher insisted. There was a deafening silence as Edmund considered. Erica balled her hands into fists, unsure of whether to run at Edmund or out the door.

"...Alright then." Edmund took out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. Erica's breath caught in her throat.

"Wait," Basil suddenly spoke, stopping his brother. Everyone turned their attention towards Basil.

"Basil," Edmund started, "what Mr. Mali did and what his niece is doing is against the laws in this city. This-"

"Is our way to getting to Ratigan," Basil finished for him. "Think about it. Ratigan was willing to come right out in the open for the Mali's treasure. With their help, we can lure him out again, where we can capture him once and for all!"

"So you're saying, Mr. Basil, you want to use myself and my niece as bait for that rat?" Christopher questioned. Before Basil could reply, Christopher spoke again. "That sounds incredibly risky, dangerous, and all-around inexcusable." But then Christopher smirked. "You can count me in. Erica? What about you?" The uncle looked at his niece, who looked back him and wore the same kind of smile, albeit a bit more relieved.

"Of course. Anything you wish me to do, I'll do." She answered.

Edmund and Dawson stared at Basil. "Basil!" Dawson whispered. "What exactly do you have in mind?!"

"Don't worry, Dawson." Basil assured his partner and friend. "I have the perfect plan."

* * *

Erica stood on the bridge that stretched over the Thames, looking out at the night sky.

There was a slight shuffle of feet behind her. She whipped around to see a skinny, rather sickly looking lizard staring at her. Suddenly he burst out laughing.

"You-you can't be..." He dissolved into a fit of giggles. "You're just a -"

Erica whipped out her sword, which had been hanging on her belt out of sight, and pointed it at him. "Just a what?" She demanded.

The lizard stopped, eying the gleaming rapier. "I see. Not the type wit' a sense of humor, eh?"

"Ratigan sent you to take my message, did he?"

The lizard seemed to forget the sword a moment and sneered. "You're in over your head, girl."

Erica glared. "You're not the first to say so. Allow me to prove you wrong." She made a move to slash his cheek. The lizard winced. She stopped just short of slicing his face open, leaving a slight graze along his cheek. "I'm through playing games, for my uncle or anyone else. Tell Ratigan I'll help him get my uncle, for a price."

"Wot's a wee mouseling like you got to offer?" The lizard asked suspiciously.

"My family fortune. The will. Everything."

The lizards eyes widened.

"So, have we got a deal or not?" Erica asked. "If no, then I've just wasted my time with you."The lizard skittered away in response.

Not far from where Erica stood, Basil stepped smoothly out of the dark shadows of his hiding place and stopped next to her."It never fails to amaze, does it?" He remarked nonchalantly.

Erica looked back at Basil."What doesn't fail to amaze?" She asked.

He shrugged. "Henchmen."

Erica allowed a small smile.

"I'll agree with you on that one...And also, Mr. Basil. I'm very sorry for outburst back at the mansion." Erica said. "I was just very upset. I didn't want you to arrest my uncle. So if I got you and your brother mad enough-"

"Edmund would've arrested you instead of your uncle." Basil finished for her. "Yes, I thought as much." Erica wasn't surprised that he was able to finish her sentence. She nodded her head, unsure of what to say next.

"...It must be nice having a brother; having a sibling that looks out for you." Erica thought out loud. Basil let out a sharp laugh. Erica raised an eyebrow. "What?" She queried, suspicious that he was making fun of her.

"Be glad you haven't a brother like Edmund," he said.

"He stood up for you," Erica recalled.

"He's also extremely arrogant and rude," Basil said. His brows furrowed, thinking it over.

"Alright, I guess..." Erica knew it was none of her business. However, her Musketeer side wanted to find out. She was about ask another question to the detective, but just then the two heard someone coming their way. Basil hurried back to his hiding space.

The lizard was coming back. Erica was ready.

"That was quick. What does he have to say?" She asked.

"You might want to ask him that yourself, miss."

Erica was confused. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"He means I've already arrived," a voice came from behind her. Erica whirled around. It was the Napoleon of Crime himself. Erica instinctively assumed a defensive stance.

Basil, from the shadows, wasn't expecting this. He had thought that Bill, the lizard, would just lead Erica to Ratigan's hideout. He didn't think that Ratigan would come himself! _This rat is becoming bolder_ , Basil thought. He reached into his pocket for the whistle.

"Well, well, well, my dear," Ratigan smiled at her. "I've heard you had a change of heart."

Erica swallowed. "I have." Erica said, trying not to sound scared. "And have you considered my offer, professor?" Her voice shook a little. Basil took notice and was worried.

 _Be strong, Erica,_ he thought. _Stiff upper lip._ Meanwhile, he slunk through the shadows, unseen behind Ratigan. Erica almost seemed to hear his thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, Erica taunted Ratigan. "I'm WAIT-ING." Ratigan was a bit annoyed. Just a bit.

He pulled a pistol from his cloak, smiling sweetly at her. "The will, my dear,"

Erica took a small step back, but didn't run. She somewhat regretted taunting the rat, but tried not to show it. As she nodded her head and put her rapier away, Erica pulled out the paper that was her grandfather's will. She slowly walked forward to hand it over to Ratigan. The Napoleon of Crime smirked the most wicked smirk Erica had ever seen. Something was wrong and she knew it.

She quickly pulled away from Ratigan, just as he was about to grabbed the will. Basil was shocked by the act.

 _Erica, what on Earth are you doing?!_ He thought. Naturally, neither Ratigan, Bill, or Erica heard him.

"What's your game, professor?" Erica asked. "I know the will isn't the ONLY thing you want..."

Ratigan grinned. "That will doesn't name your uncle as the heir to the fortune. He used some of his tricks to sneak a forged one into the reading of the will and took the real one. Didn't he?"

"If he hadn't, the treasure would have gone to you," Erica said.

"Yes. Shortly after your uncle 'died' I came up with another dastardly plan, pressuring your grandfather on his deathbed to change his will so all fortune went to me," Ratigan laughed. "Unfortunately your uncle found out and forged a new one to prevent me ever getting the treasure. I intend to bring his treachery to light."

Erica narrowed her eyes at the rat. "I see..."

Suddenly there was a yell. "Halt right there, you miserable sewer rat!" Ratigan whirled around to see Basil, who had decided it was time to intervene.

Ratigan put his hand to his heart. "Why, what a surprise," he said, eyelashes fluttering. "And to think I believed you when you said you had had a change of heart," Ratigan said to Erica in a way that convinced her he had never believed her at all. "And I suppose you're here to put stop to my plan," He said condescendingly to Basil. "Well, joke's on you, isn't it, Mr Detective. I'm not in the wrong here, for once."

Basil looked at his archenemy, confused and baffled. Basil quickly realized that this could some kind of trick. He narrowed his eyes at Ratigan. "What could you possibly mean?" Basil asked.

"Oh, don't pretend you didn't hear our little conversation, Basil. Christopher and his niece have been lying the whole time. Their treasure belongs to me."

Basil laughed. "You're still wanted by the law, Ratigan. I'll turn you in and you'll live the rest of your life behind bars."

Ratigan sneered. "Good point," he snickered. "Perhaps it will just be easier to kill the Malis and take the treasure by force. Starting with her," Ratigan turned and lunged at Erica. Erica leapt out if the way, slashing at Ratigan with her sword. Ratigan batted it away and swiped at her with his claws. Just then, Basil jumped in, grabbing at the back of Ratigan's cape and yanking with all of his might, peeling him off of her.

Erica was released from Ratigan's grip. But the villain turned his attention towards the detective and jumped at Basil. Ratigan grabbed the detective's neck and held a firm grip on it.

"Mr. Basil!" Erica hurried to help but Bill the Lizard grabbed her from behind. However, Erica easily escaped his grasp and knocked him down with a punch to the face.

Just as Erica began to lunge for Basil and Ratigan, another mook jumped out I front of her, leering at her. She looked around. It seemed Ratigan's entourage of henchmen had appeared out of nowhere.

Basil kicked out at Ratigan, trying to get him to release him. He stuck a hand in his pocket. Suddenly there was a shot. Ratigan yelped, dropping Basil. Basil scrambled to his feet, holding the pistol out at him.

"You shot me!" Ratigan said in disbelief, looking at the scarlet stain on his sleeve that was increasing in size.

Basil panted as he regained air in his lungs. He narrowed his eyes at Ratigan.

"It's called self-defense, Professor." Basil replied, or rather snapped, back. "Now...either you turn yourself in tonight, or Musketeer X and I-"

Ratigan let out a wicked laugh.

"Uh...Mr. Basil?" Erika asked uncertainly. Basil looked around. They were surrounded.

"Oh, Basil," Ratigan giggled. "I'm afraid you're cornered."

"Think again." Basil said with a smirk. He heard the tell-tale bounding in the distance and knew that he was going to win.

Toby charged in, with seemingly the entire Scotland Yard hanging onto his back. Nestled between his ears sat Dawson, Edmund, and Christopher. "Halt!" Edmund yelled down from atop Toby's head.

Toby growled down Ratigan's mooks, causing a brief panic. Edmund jumped down from Toby's head, as Dawson slid down carefully with Christopher. Edmund hurried to Basil.

"You got shot," He pointed out with a hint of worry in his voice. Basil looked up at him.

"Ye-Yes...I'm fine." Basil answered. Edmund then noticed Christopher, without his cane, limping towards Ratigan.

"Mr. Mali!" Basil cried out. He was about the rush out to stop Christopher from going any further, but Edmund held his shoulder. The brothers looked to see what Christopher was doing.

Christopher stood only inches away from Ratigan, as the rat glared down at him. They both silently glared at each other. Everyone around them watch and listened as Christopher broke the silence.

"...I'm sad, Padraic. I'm sad that I ever had the goal to call you a friend before. Heh." Christopher scoffed. "How long has it been? Since if called you by your first name? It doesn't really matter now, though, does it? Not here, not now..." Christopher then pulled out a sword that was tucked away in the sheath attached to his belt. It was his sword he used so long ago.

"Uncle Christopher! Don't-"

"Stay away Erica!" Christopher snapped, silencing her. He looked at his Musketeer niece and smiled a sad smile. "I don't want you getting hurt. This is my duel now." Christopher looked back at Ratigan and said, "You and me. One on One. I'm WAIT-ING." He taunted.

Ratigan snarled. He lunged at Christopher. Christopher moved expertly out of the way, swiping at Ratigan. Ratigan dodged and made another grab for Christopher.

"Stop them!" Edmund shouted. The Scotland Yard started to move in closer.

Edmund made a move, leaping forward for a stab at Ratigan's thigh. Ratigan neatly deflected it with his claws. His snarl had turned into wicked grin. He faked towards the left, leading Christopher into a vulnerable position. But Christopher was experienced. He batted away the shot and sprang forward, blade centered right for Ratigan's chest.

The shot rang in Erica's ears. She watched in almost disbelief as her uncle crumpled, wide-eyed, to the ground. Realization hit her with an icy slap. Then she screamed.

"UNCLE!"

She ran towards him. The bullets blazed as Scotland Yard's men fired at Ratigan, who skittered out of the way. Somewhere there was a shout and feet, and she knew that they were all giving chase, but they were far away and didn't matter anymore. All she saw was Uncle Christopher, the last family she knew, as he stared up at her with glassy, dead eyes. Those eyes that had used to be so kind and warm...they were foreign to her now, she realized as she knelt beside him in the growing pool of blood. This wasn't her uncle anymore. It was just another dead mouse on the street.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and saw the kindly face of Dr. Dawson.

"You're bleeding." He said quietly.

Erica looked at her shoulder. It seemed that she had been hit in the crossfire as she went to Uncle Christopher's side. Once she looked at it, she felt a sting, but it still seemed far away, as if her nerves had been capped off with cotton balls. She realized her face was wet-had she been crying? She looked up again at Dr. Dawson, who was looking at Christopher calmly, with just a hint of sadness...he had seen death before, she supposed. He turned to her, and their eyes met, and Erica's throat suddenly felt a very tight pain in the back of her throat. She took in a shuddering gasp. "Uncle..."

Dr. Dawson didn't say a word, but got down on his knees in the pool of blood and hugged her.

* * *

"He escaped," Basil said irritably. He pulled on his smoking jacket and stared into the parlor fire. "Again. We searched everywhere. The mud on his shoes led us to Big Ben, and then...poof. Nothing. Not even Toby could find his smell again. His employees that we did manage to catch were hiding in the Saloon, the idiots. Their tracks led right to the back of the bar, where we would've looked for them anyway. But again...my archnemesis has disappeared."

"And left Erica Mali all alone in the world." Dawson replied.

There was silence after that sentence. Poor Erica...She was all alone.

"It's her own fault, you know." Edmund stated. Basil and Dawson looked over at the Government Official, who stared out the window. "She should never had gotten involved with Ratigan...If she hadn't, Mr. Mali would possibly still be alive."

"...How can you say that?" Basil muttered, apparently loud enough to hear. Edmund looked at his little brother, a bit confused.

"I would think you'd agree with me, Basil. She-"

"Put herself in danger. To save others." Basil interrupted Edmund. Basil turned around to face his sibling. Dawson noticed a light in Basil's eyes, a certain light he had never seen before. "She was willing to die for her uncle. He was the only family she had left. Christopher knew what he would be getting into, and yet you blame the CHILD for this mess?!" Basil nearly shouted.Edmund was startled at the sharpness of Basil's voice. There was a short pause."Get out," Basil said curtly.

"I-"

"Out."

Edmund glanced at Dawson, who found it best to look at the ground and not say anything. After a pause, Edmund grabbed his coat and left, the door to 21 1/2 Baker Street slamming behind him. Basil didn't even look up, puffing on his pipe and staring at the crackling embers of the fire.

Dawson cleared his throat. "I don't like leaving that poor girl to fend for herself, Basil."

Basil looked up at his award laden mantel. "She won't have to," he said.


	6. Epilogue

The train whistle blew. "All aboard!" The conductor called. Basil had a strange sense of deja vu. Next to him, Dawson was giving Erica Mali a few words of advice.

"Now, when you meet Miss Bradamante, be a perfect lady. Focus on your studies."

"Thank you, Dr. Dawson. I promise I'll behave," Erica gave him a smile. "I really don't know how to thank you. Either of you," she said. "Giving me assistance to go to the most prestigious boarding school in Wales, and after all I...I honestly don't know how to thank you."

Basil straightened his coat. "Well...considering the circumstances, I thought it was right."

Erica took a deep breath and nodded. "Perhaps I will come back to London when I am older. But for now...I want a new beginning."

"That seems like the right decision, Miss Mali." Basil nodded his head. Erica gave the two gentlemice a soft smile.

"Thank you, both of you. I'm certain...My uncle...along with my mother and father are happy that I'm alive. I just...I just..." Erica sighed and looked away before looking back. "I'm sorry for everything. And Mr. Basil..."

Erica walked closer him and stood up on her tip-toes and kissed him quickly on the cheek.

Basil was stunned for a moment before looking at Erica, who smiled brightly with slight blush in her cheeks.

"Catch Ratigan for me!" She said and hurried off to get on the train. The train started pulling off and so she went. Erica Mali had left London.

Dawson looked at Basil. "Do you think Edmund will-"

"He won't," Basil said dismissively.

"I think she'll be all right, don't you, Basil?"

Basil didn't say anything. He smiled a bit and made a nod. "If she does something with that temper." Dawson laughed.

"Shall we, Basil?"

"Let's."

They turned, walking back to 21 1/2 Baker Street side-by-side.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, that's all folks! Thank you so much for reading! It has been super fun writing this story with my good friend GodWriting, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as we did creating it. Let us know what you think!

Toodles,

Narwhals Forever


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